


Just a Killer Dream

by infinite_on_high



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst? Maybe? Not really?, Don’t read it for angst it’s really just fluff with the occasional weirdly sad bit, Dream AU, Dream World, Fluff, Honsetly I hate to say this but just read it and you’ll figure out what the hell its about, M/M, The plot makes no sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-21 01:28:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16149671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinite_on_high/pseuds/infinite_on_high
Summary: Real life isn’t exactly the best place for Pete Wentz.This dream world on the other hand, complete with a fittingly dreamy boy named Patrick, seems perfect.If only he could stay.





	Just a Killer Dream

Pete Wentz was the kind of kid you would probably look right past.

He wasn’t particularly cute. His hair was a tangle of unruly curls which he occasionally tried to straighten into a poor excuse for an emo hairstyle. All he ever wore was sweatshirts, winter, summer, it was all the same. He’d amassed quite the collection, in fact. It was all he seemed to care about. Most of them were quite plain, which suited him. He was also a fan of black jeans and sneakers, but those never really made him stand out either. Just another wannabe emo kid, nothing special️.️️️️

In fact, if you imagined a failed emo kid, it would probably look something like Pete. He was everything bad people associated with a label like that, and nothing cute or fashionable. His arms were sliced up, he was quiet and sullen, and he scrawled depressing, cringe-worthy poetry in his school notebooks. In other words, he was the kind of boy other kids ignored, most adults pitied, and school counselors seemed to hunt down as if they were poachers questing for the hide of a rare creature.

Of course, Pete was the most endangered of species. He walked the windowsill of life, barely avoiding falling off the edge but still unable to climb back into the safety of the indoors. His life was a game of awful, disgusting secrets which he spent his waking hours trying to keep. Until one day, he was finally brought down by those hunters, and his pelt was finally claimed.

They took his hoodie away. He begged them not to, with cries of “Don’t you trust me?” and “I promise you, I’ve done nothing wrong!”, but the whispers had grown too rampant and they wouldn’t let him hide anymore. Lying on the dusty carpet of the counselor’s office, his precious hoodie just inches from him and his wounds displayed for the world to see, Pete cried. It began with heavy sobs as his anger with everyone who’d done this to him bubbled in his throat, then it divulged into pained wails of “why me?”, and eventually it faded into soft whimpers. Pete hugged his knees to his chest and whimpered to himself for what felt like hours. He was terrified. They should have just shot him dead on the spot, he figured. It would have been less painful than forcing him to go back to his now ruined life.

Pete left that office an even more broken boy than he already was. His mother had come to pick him up, and on the whole drive home she begged him to just let her see his scars, just so she could see how bad it really was. But Pete knew, however bad she thought it was, it was infinitely worse. He was more broken than anyone could ever imagine. He couldn’t even bear to look his family in the eyes. The world had turned on him, leaving him a hollow mess of scars and tears and poorly-applied eyeliner. All of that had been a facade, anyway. He had only been hiding how broken he was inside. And that was all over.

Pete lied down in bed that night. He stared at the ceiling. Somewhere out there, he thought, there must be a way out. A place where I’m okay. And he thought about how to get there. The thought of death crossed his mind, as it tended to do. He considered the simplicity of popping a few pills and falling asleep forever, freeing himself of all the burden the world had placed on his back. But it wasn’t really death that he wanted. All he wanted was sanctuary. Safety. The feeling that he was somewhere he could belong, where he wasn’t gross and broken.

And on that thought, he slept.

He came to his senses on a darkened path, asphalt and surrounded with gray, sickly looking grass. The whole world around him was dark, and when he looked up he saw stars and a half-moon which all had a friendly glow about them. On three sides of him was a sea that seemed to stretch endlessly and glowed a striking shade of indigo in the moonlight. And so he had no choice but to follow the path forward, towards the vast unknown which lay ahead in this odd place.

As he looked down to examine the sickly gray grass, which actually seemed to be growing nicely despite its ill color, he noticed his arms. They were bare, bloodied in the way they always were when hurt himself. But the feeling wasn’t the same. When Pete saw those cuts that time, he felt betrayed. He felt sick, and he vomited into the indigo sea to his left. It was a cruel curse. Even in this world, he was scarred and broken.

Still, he continued to walk along the path. As he continued, he saw what appeared to be a small village up ahead. The houses were an unnatural shape: cylindrical, with tall cones serving as roofs. They were a similar shade to the sea, except a bit more of a relaxed and welcoming tone. A more faded purple tone. Pete excitedly moved closer to the village, feeling immediately welcomed by its presence.

When he arrived, Pete found that it was, indeed, a village, but it was even smaller than he’d expected. There were only a few houses crowded together around what resembled a town square, with a single park bench in the middle facing the path Pete had come on. Sitting on the park bench was a boy Pete’s age.

Pete didn’t want to disturb him, but he also felt bad attempting to explore the village with this boy just watching, so he approached him.

This boy was unlike Pete. Though he seemed to be dressed similarly, his arms were pristine and unharmed. His hair was light in color, straight and almost shoulder length. He was a bit rounder than Pete, but not in a bad way, and he had a soft face complete with shining blue-green eyes staring at Pete behind rectangular-frame glasses. Those eyes pierced right into Pete’s soul, and he felt something: this boy was perfect.

“May I sit here?” Pete asked him, gesturing at the empty spot on the bench. The boy smiled sweetly at him and scooted a bit to the side. He motioned for pete to sit down, and Pete did.

“Who are you?” the boy asked, his voice calm and gentle. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“I’m Pete,” Pete answered slowly. He didn’t make eye contact with the boy. “I’ve never been here before. It looks really nice, though.”

“Thank you,” the boy said, blushing. “I’m Patrick. I’ve lived here my whole life.”

“Where is here, exactly?”

“Honestly, I’m not quite sure. The books say it’s the only island in the vast ocean, but that’s it. I don’t know how long it’s been here or anything.”

“Do you have parents?”

“No. I think they died when I was young. So I’m the king now.”

“The king of what?” Pete was taken aback. He was sitting on a park bench with the king of this mysterious world he’d stumbled across. He felt unworthy.

“Of this island, I guess,” Patrick replied. “I have a castle and everything. And considering I’m the only one here after my parents died, who else would there be to to take up the throne?”

“You have a castle?” Pete asked, looking around. “Where?”

Patrick laughed. He had a great laugh; it boomed from his stomach and incorporated his whole body. It was a laugh that made Pete feel good just hearing it.

“It’s right below us, silly,” Patrick told him. “Follow me, I’ll show you.”

He took Pete by the hand and guided him toward one of the oddly shaped houses. As they traveled through the village, Pete noticed something. These “houses” had windows, but no doors. Except the one Patrick lead him to, which had a small wooden door barely taller than Patrick himself in the side facing the park. Patrick opened the door to reveal a spiral staircase leading down. Curious, Pete followed him. The stairs lead into a long hallway with soft royal-purple carpeting, and the hall lead into a huge room that resembled a ballroom of sorts.

“This is amazing,” Pete whispered in awe. He stared up at the crystal chandelier hanging from the peaked wooden ceiling. The light was refracted a thousand ways through the little bits of crystal, and the freshly waxed wooden floor of the ballroom seemed to be covered in tiny rainbows cast from the little prisms. Even the wallpaper, which was a faded white with vines and violet flowers snaking all across the walls, seemed enchanting.

“This is nothing,” Patrick said. He grabbed Pete’s hand and pulled him across the floor. Pete didn’t even have to walk-he slid in his socks all the way across the room. Patrick opened a door like the one that lead into the castle. This one lead to a foyer complete with plush chairs and couches and a rug so fluffy the threads tickled Pete’s ankles as he walked across it. Everything in this room was a relaxed shade of maroon, almost giving the appearance of a cabin, except with much more expensive trappings. On the wall opposite the door was a towering wooden shelf full of books and trinkets. In one corner of the foyer was a stairwell, which Patrick immediately lead Pete to.

The stairs seemed to go up even more than a normal stairwell, which made Pete wonder how long exactly they had spent climbing down the spiral staircase. If the round “houses” above ground were indeed just the towers of this buried castle, surely the place would have to be quite far down. But Pete couldn’t seem to remember walking down that many stairs to begin with.

Before he could think too hard about this, Patrick let go of his hand and threw open one of the doors in the hallway at the top of the stairs. This hallway had a railing to one side, and Pete briefly glanced over it down into the foyer before Patrick called for him to come into the next room.

This was a bedroom. It was the most stunning bedroom Pete had ever seen. The walls were painted a soft shade of baby blue, and the shag carpet on the floor was a similar color. The ceiling was painted with fluffy clouds that looked so real you could almost reach out and touch them. The huge four-poster bed in the middle had a lacy lavender curtain surrounding it, and through the tiny crack in that curtain Pete could see that the blankets and pillows were very soft, and all in matching shades of purples and blues. There was even a plush toy of a sheep on the bed, completing the soft and gentle ensemble of the room.

“Is this your room?” Pete asked Patrick still barely able to believe his eyes.

“No,” Patrick replied, winking. “It’s yours.”

Pete was speechless.

“Oh, you haven’t even seen the best part! Watch this.” Patrick guided Pete into the room and shut the door. Because the room had no windows, it was now pitch dark inside. Pete looked around, and finally up at the ceiling.

“Oh my god.”

Where the fluffy clouds had once been there was now a sky full of stars, gently glowing in the darkness in the way a real sky does. In fact, Pete swore he could even see the Big Dipper among those painted stars.

“Do you like it? It’s glow-in-the-dark paint.”

“It’s beautiful. I can’t believe it.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Patrick said. Pete could barely see in the darkness, but Patrick was grinning from ear to ear.

Patrick flipped the light back on. Pete took in the room again. It was so beautiful, much more comforting than the boring beige walls and white bedsheets of his own room. And he appreciated the lack of little bloodstains on those sheets as well. He promised himself he wasn’t going to hurt in this room, for no better reason than not ruining the beautiful sheets.

In fact, Pete was surprised Patrick hadn’t noticed his cuts yet. He decided not to bring it up. The longer he could go without Patrick asking him about that, the better.

“Are you tired?” Patrick asked Pete, snapping him out of his paranoid trance.

“Ummm… a little, I guess. I mean, I could probably sleep in here. It’s just… so nice and cozy.”

“Here,” Patrick offered, parting the curtains around the bed. He invited Pete over, and Pete slowly crawled into the bed. The blankets were so soft. It was like nothing Pete had ever felt before. He crawled into the bed and rested his head onto one of the big, fluffy pillows. For a second he ran his hand across the wispy cotton fur of the plush sheep. Pete felt as if he was enveloped in a cloud, cozy and warm and safe. Suddenly he really did feel tired.

Patrick flipped of the light, and gently opened the door to leave. Then he stopped himself.

“Do you want me to stay with you?”

This seemed like an odd request to Pete. However, he didn’t see any real reason to decline. In fact, the thought of Patrick lying next to him as he slept seemed somewhat comforting.

“Sure,” Pete replied.

“Alright. Move over.” Patrick shut the door again and climbed into the bed next to Pete. He drew the curtains and crawled under the blankets. The room was even more magical in the bed with the curtains drawn: they were surrounded by a dreamy purple mist, with stars above them and a soft pastel cloud below. Pete wanted to stay forever.

“What is this place?” Pete asked, awestruck by everything he had seen.

“It’s my home,” Patrick replied. “And I guess it’s your home now too.”

“Good,” Pete mused. “I love it here.”

“Me too,” Patrick agreed. He moved closer to Pete. Pete moved closer to him in return.

They fell asleep with their arms around each other, surrounded by that beautiful little dreamscape of theirs.

Pete awoke sooner than he would have liked to. He had enjoyed sleeping in the soft, cloud-like bed with Patrick. However, he began to notice that the blankets currently wrapped around him were cold and scratchy, and Patrick was no longer beside him. The glowing stars were absent from the ceiling, the plush toy sheep was gone, and when Pete looked around he only saw his dresser and closet and bookshelf, rather than the beautiful purple abyss that had surrounded him when he had fallen asleep.

An awful thought plagued his mind. Patrick, the castle, the beautiful bedroom-was it really all a dream?

But it couldn’t be. Pete had never dreamed something like that before. Nothing he’d ever dreamed had felt so real. He still remembered the feeling of the soft blankets on his body, he had felt the warmth of Patrick lying next to him, he had felt the rush of sliding across the ballroom floor in his socks. All of that felt real, and he could still remember how it felt. No dream ever felt that vivid before.

Unfortunately, Pete soon had to face his current reality again. He got out of his bed, which admittedly wasn’t that uncomfortable but felt like rocks and sandpaper compared to the heavenly bed he had shared with Patrick. Pete threw on a pair of jeans and one of his signature hoodies, which he prayed he’d be allowed to keep this time. He didn’t even bother trying to straighten his hair. Instead, he opted to put on some eyeliner. Just to convey that tired emo kid look.

Pete didn’t even acknowledge his parents as he walked downstairs. The longer he could avoid talking to them, the better. He was content with just being broken inside forever, silently suffering because that was all he could do.

He didn’t even have the energy to make toast. For breakfast, he ate a slice of white bread out of the bag. It tasted alright, somehow. Before long, he had grabbed his backpack and walked out the door to the bus stop.

It surprised Pete how many people had actually heard about his little breakdown the previous day. Everyone stared at him when he arrived at the bus stop. Pete tried not to acknowledge them. He heard them whisper. One kid even hollered “show us your cuts, emo boy!”, which warranted a few cheers of agreement and a few slightly offended stares. Pete paid them no mind. He got on the bus and stared out the window.

He missed Patrick so bad. Even if it was all a dream, he wanted to dream that dream again and again for the rest of his life. That world was so perfect. It was sweet and comforting and safe. Unlike this real world. Here it was cruel and harsh. Pete didn’t feel at home. He felt lost and lonely. Then again, he always felt that way.

Pete didn’t even bother trying to pay attention in his first class of the day. Instead he laid his head down on his desk and tried to sleep. He just needed to get back to Patrick and that magical little world. Unfortunately, his teacher tapped him on the shoulder before he could drift off. After a long lecture about focusing on the lesson, Pete gave up trying to fall asleep in class for that day.

He jumped into bed almost immediately when he got home from school. Even though he had homework, he didn’t even bother to do it. All he cared about was seeing Patrick again. Pete spent what felt like an hour trying to will himself to sleep, but he simply wasn’t tired. After a while, he reluctantly went downstairs and ate dinner with his family. No one spoke, and Pete was okay with that. Finally he tried to fall asleep again. This time felt easier. At least this time, Pete was a bit tired.

Pete awoke before he knew it. He felt the soft blankets against his skin, and he felt Patrick’s arm across his chest. Tears flooded into his eyes. This felt like proof, proof that this place was real and that he really could go back to it. He rolled over to face Patrick, burying himself in Patrick’s chest. This woke Patrick, who immediately began rubbing Pete’s back in an effort to comfort him.

“What’s going on?” he asked Pete, who was currently sobbing into his shirt.

“This is a dream, isn’t it?” Pete sobbed.

“No, of course not. What makes you say that?”

“I woke up, Patrick. I woke up in my bed, in my house, in the real world. I went to school, and kids asked me to show them my scars. My parents didn’t even speak to me. It was awful.”

“Shhh,” Patrick replied gently, still trying to calm Pete. “You were just having a bad dream. This is your house now.”

“No, it’s not,” Pete cried. “I’ve only been here a little while. I’ve lived my whole life in that other world.”

“Maybe you have,” Patrick said, “but you’re here now. This is your home now.”

“But it can't be. I’ll wake up again, you know. And I’ll go back there. Of course I’ll come back here eventually, but I’ll still have to spend most of my time out there. None of this is real, Patrick. I’m dreaming it.”

“Then why do I remember so much about this place? How can I remember painting those stars on the ceiling, or sliding around the ballroom alone in my socks, or when my parents died, or… anything before you came here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe that’s just how my brain made you. But think about it-if you weren’t made because of me, why did you make a whole room in your house for me?”

“It wasn’t for you specifically. It was just for the first person who came. I’m the king, Pete. I needed a queen. But I guess a king came first. And that’s you.”

“I can’t be king with you. Like I said, I’m going to have to leave you every night. Or day, or however time works in this place. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry. It doesn’t matter that you go to that other place while you’re asleep. As long as you come back here for me, it’s okay.”

“I’ll try,” Pete said. “I really do love it here.”

“And think about it,” Patrick said. “How would your brain have made this place? I don’t think a brain that tells someone to hurt and suffer would be capable of making a place that you consider so… beautiful.”

Pete’s thoughts stopped dead in their tracks. Had Patrick known about the cuts all along? But whether or not he had known… maybe he was right. It really didn’t seem likely that a mind as broken and awful as Pete’s could make a world as lovely and beautiful as this.

“Come on,” Patrick said, gently patting Pete on the shoulder. “Let’s get up. I’ll make us some tea and pancakes. Or something else, if you don’t like that.”

“Are you kidding? I love that,” Pete smiled. Even if this world was just a dream, he was going to get as much out of it as he could.

He followed Patrick out of the bedroom, down the stairs, through the foyer, and into the biggest kitchen Pete had ever seen. It was like a restaurant kitchen, but more vast, with the walls covered in cabinets, countertops, and every kitchen appliance imaginable. The tile floor shined in the glow of the bright white light from the two chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling. Once again, Pete could do nothing but stand in the doorway and stare in awe.

Patrick grabbed a kettle from one of the many cabinets, filled it with water, and set it on the stove. He also began grabbing several ingredients at a seemingly impossible pace from the several cabinets in the kitchen and throwing them in a bowl to make the pancakes. As he stood over the stove, flipping pancakes the way people do in cartoons with each pancake flying high into the air, Patrick looked over at Pete, still standing in the doorway.

“What kind of tea do you like?” he asked.

Pete shrugged. He’d never had tea.

“You seem like a peppermint tea kind of guy. Sweet, but not too sugary. Nice personality.”

“Sounds good to me,” Pete replied.

Patrick finished flipping the pancakes and stacked them high onto a plate. He grabbed two pristine white ceramic mugs from a cabinet, along with a box of peppermint tea. Then he added the tea and water to the mugs, picked them both up with one hand, and grabbed the plate of pancakes with the other.

“Come on, we can eat in the dining room!” he called out to Pete.

Pete, still a bit stunned by both the kitchen itself and Patrick’s ability to carry all those dishes, slowly followed Patrick through another door into the dining room. This room had a large table with a white tablecloth and several settings of plates and forks. There was also a maroon rug on the floor, which wasn’t as fluffy as the one in the foyer but was definitely the same color. Patrick placed the mugs and pancakes down at the first two seats at the table so that he and Pete could sit across from each other.

“Let your tea steep for a while before you drink it. I’m going to go grab some syrup for the pancakes.” Patrick dashed back through the kitchen door, presumably to go grab some syrup.

While he was doing this, Pete stared down at the table. There must have been about twenty spaces, which seemed odd to Pete considering Patrick had made no mention of anyone besides him and his parents ever living in the castle. Still, Pete paid no mind to it. He was excited to dig into the pancakes the moment Patrick returned with the syrup.

The pancakes were some of the best pancakes Pete had ever had. They tasted amazing, which seemed to be more evidence towards this world being real considering Pete had never tasted anything in a dream before. The peppermint tea was also delicious, and Pete told himself to try and have tea more often.

“Do you like it?” Patrick asked.

“Yes,” Pete said. “It’s amazing. These are the best pancakes I’ve ever had.”

Patrick blushed. “I’m glad you like them,” he replied.

“Maybe this isn’t a dream after all. Nothing in a dream could taste this good.”

“See? What did I tell you?” Patrick grinned. He reached across the table and put his hand on Pete’s. Pete shivered. It wasn’t that Patrick touching his hand felt bad, it was just… so close to his cuts. They were still fully visible since Pete’s pajamas were short sleeved, and he’d arrived in this world in them.

“Speaking of that,” Pete said, “do you happen to have any long-sleeved shirts? Or sweatshirts, or anything like that? I’m cold.”

Patrick looked at Pete and smiled sweetly. Pete was pretty sure Patrick knew the real reason he wanted a sweatshirt, but he was glad he wasn’t bringing it up.

“I’ll go find something,” Patrick told him. “Just stay here and eat your pancakes.”

Pete was more than happy to oblige. He had nearly cleaned his plate by the time Patrick returned with a red hooded sweatshirt draped over his arm.

“Here. Is this alright?” Patrick handed Pete the sweatshirt. Pete’s hands were a bit sticky from the syrup, and bits of red threads stuck to his fingertips as he put the hoodie on. It fit perfectly. Immediately Pete felt better.

“It’s great,” he said, smiling. Having finished eating, he went to the kitchen to wash the syrup off his hands. Patrick followed him, which Pete found weird, but he didn’t object.

“What did you even do in this house all by yourself for… how many years?” Pete asked Patrick as he washed his hands in the sink.

“It’s probably been about… nine or ten years by now? I’ve been alone since I was like five.”

“Wow. That’s really awful. Sorry for bringing it up.”

“It’s alright,” Patrick shrugged. “Like I said, it was almost ten years ago. I’ve managed. And besides, I have you now!”

“But what did you do without me for ten years?”

“I cleaned the house a lot. A house this big, you have to clean it a lot. It probably takes me a whole day to clean, and I try to clean every couple of weeks. I also read a lot. That shelf in the foyer has some half decent books if you look hard enough. And I learned to play guitar.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! I can show you my guitar, if you want. It’s up in my room.”

Pete didn’t need to be asked twice. He followed Patrick through the foyer, up the stairs, past his own bedroom, and through a door at the end of the hall.

Patrick’s room was different from Pete’s, but it was just as beautiful. The walls were a warm shade of pink, and the carpet was soft and purple. There were shelves all over the walls, covered in trinkets similar to those found on the bookshelves in the foyer-old toy cars, miniature dolls, animals made of glass or stone. Pete wondered where Patrick had managed to obtain these things, but he didn’t question Patrick on it, and instead just took in the items along with the atmosphere of the room. The bed in the center was similar to the bed in Pete’s room, except the curtain on this one was pink, and there was a plush doll of a bear rather than a sheep.

In the corner of the room was a stand with an acoustic guitar on it. The guitar didn’t look particularly old, but it did have a few scratches here and there. Patrick picked it up, and then moved the curtain on the bed just enough so that he could sit down with it. He invited Pete to sit down next to him.

“I don’t know a lot of songs,” Patrick told him. “Mostly I just write my own stuff. Kind of just… play things that sound right.”

Pete nodded. He didn’t really understand, but he still liked listening to Patrick.

Patrick began strumming a few chords. It didn’t really sound like a song, but it sounded very pretty. The guitar was one of the better guitars Pete had heard: it sounded gentle, but not too quiet or muted, and each strum sounded full and special. Even the whistle of Patrick’s fingers moving up and down the strings sounded pretty, almost as if they were an intentional and important part of the music. Pete was absorbed into the music. He rested his head on Patrick’s shoulder and spent what felt like hours listening to him play. It was so calming. He felt like he could just drift off…

Pete awoke with a start in his disgusting bedroom in the disgusting real world. He stared at the ceiling for a while, willing it to not be real. He even tried forcing himself back to sleep, but his body just wouldn’t let him. His heart sunk deep into his stomach. Patrick had been ripped away from him once again.

But now he was sure of it. This was more than just a dream. This was as real as the cruel world currently surrounding him, and he had to find a way to stay with Patrick.

Pete went to school that day. But he never showed up to class. Instead of going to class, he went to the stairwell and hid in a corner where he hoped nobody would find him. He laid his backpack on the floor, rested his head on it, and tried and tried to go to sleep.

He awoke soon, this time surrounded by the pink curtain of Patrick’s bedroom.

“Oh good, you’re up!” Patrick said gleefully. He was sitting on the edge of the bed next to Pete. His guitar was back in its place. “Did you enjoy your nap?”

“What?” Pete said deliriously. “No, of course not. I just wanted to be back with you.”

“You went to that place again, didn’t you.”

“The real world. Yes. That’s where I always go when I’m not here.”

“Awww, poor thing. Did the kids make fun of your cuts again?”

“Not this time. But I was able to get out quickly.”

“Good. Maybe someday you’ll be able to leave that place forever. You can stay here with me, and you can be happy all the time.”

“I wish I could, Patrick, but every time I fall asleep in here I’m going to wake up out there. Eventually I’m going to get tired here. And then I’ll have to leave you again.”

“I don’t think that’s true. You’ve been awake, what, five minutes? I don’t think it’s even possible for someone to sleep for that short of an amount of time. If you went to sleep here right now, and then in ten minutes I woke you up, I don’t think you’ll go to that other world in your sleep at all.”

“You mean it’ll be like I just fell asleep in here, and I’ll have a normal dream instead of going back to the other world?”

“That, or no dreams at all.”

“I mean, it’s worth a try. But the moment I wake up in that world I leave you. And I can’t see you again until I fall asleep there. Which might take me a long time.”

“No, I’ll wake you up in ten minutes. Don’t worry. You’ll come right back.” Patrick ran his fingers through Pete’s hair and kissed him on the cheek.

Pete blushed, then buried himself in the pillow again.

“Alright then. I’ll miss you,” Pete told him. He wrapped himself in the blankets and looked up at Patrick before he closed his eyes.

“Just remember, I’m right here next to you,” Patrick said with a smile. “See you soon, Pete.”

Pete wrapped the blankets tightly around himself and fell peacefully asleep.

For about thirty seconds, before he was rudely awakened by the sound of stomping feet around him. Classes were switching, and kids were walking up and down the stairs all around him. No one paid him any mind, but Pete couldn’t seem to get himself back to sleep with them running around him like that. Even after they left, he couldn’t fall back asleep right away. He stared up at the underside of the stairs, willing himself back to sleep, back to Patrick.

When he finally awoke back amongst the soft pink and purple blankets of Patrick’s bed, Pete saw a very scared looking Patrick kneeling down on the bed next to him. He wasn’t quite crying, but he looked on the verge of tears.

“Patrick, what happened?” he exclaimed. “Are you okay?”

“You’re a really heavy sleeper, Pete,” Patrick said shakily.

“What do you mean?”

“I must have been shouting and shaking you for ages and you didn’t wake up. I was scared something happened to you or something.”

Pete stared up at the ceiling, thinking about that. He really wasn’t a heavy sleeper. In fact, he could typically be woken up fairly easily, at least in the real world.

“I’m awake now. I’m okay,” Pete told him gently. He rolled over to face Patrick, and Patrick just shook his head.

“I’m sorry I freaked out,” he said. “I just… I love you. I don’t want to lose you.”

“It’s okay, Patrick. I understand.”

“Did you go to… the other place?”

“Yeah,” Pete sighed.

“Ugh. It’s hopeless, isn’t it.” Patrick hugged his knees to his chest and stared down at Pete longingly. “You’re always going to wind up back in that place, no matter what I do.”

“It’s alright,” Pete said. “I’ll come visit as often as I can. I’ll probably spend more time in here than out there. There’s no reason not to, really. You’ll barely even get a chance to miss me.”

“But that’s not the problem! I don’t want you to have to keep going to that place. It’s horrible.”

“I’ve survived there for fourteen years already. I’m sure I can manage.”

“Still. You shouldn’t have to suffer through that all the time. You should be able to stay here with me. It’s safe, and it’s warm, and no one can make fun of you. I’ll love you, and that’s all that matters.”

“I’m sorry I can’t stay.” Pete rested his head on Patrick’s knees.

“You can try. Here, get up. I’ll teach you how to play guitar.”

Pete slowly wriggled himself out from under the covers. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and Patrick grabbed his guitar off the stand. Then he set it on Pete’s lap, and gently placed his hands in the right positions. At that point Pete realized he didn’t care too much about learning to play the guitar, but he did love Patrick holding his hands.

Patrick delicately moved Pete’s left hand across the strings while Pete plucked with his right hand. Pete could feel his face going red. Eventually, he gave up on the guitar altogether.

“Alright, Patrick, just hold my hand, okay?” Pete said bluntly. Patrick laughed.

“Took you long enough,” he giggled, picking the guitar up off Pete’s lap and placing it back on the stand. He sat back down on the bed, gently taking Pete’s hands in his own. Pete’s face got even redder.

“It feels like you’re going to propose to me,” he mumbled, awkwardly staring down at the floor.

“I don’t need to. You’re already my prince,” Patrick told him. Pete looked up with a jolt. He had forgotten about that.

“What do we rule over?” he asked.

“Pretty much just this castle and the island around it. That’s all there is. I don’t even think there are any animals here.”

“How did you get here anyway?”

“I have no idea. I was born here.”

“And how do you get food, if there are no plants or animals or supermarkets or anything?”

“It just sort of… turns up in the cabinets.”

Pete nodded quizzically.

“Where do all the trinkets come from? All the toys on the shelves?”

“Like the food. They just turn up in the house. I put them on a shelf. It’s that simple, really.”

“Interesting,” Pete mused. “So being kings is really just a symbolic title, isn’t it?”

“I guess so. But it sounds nice.”

“Do we get kingly robes or crowns or anything?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I could find something. Follow me.”

Patrick took Pete by the hand and lead him out the door, down the stairs, through the foyer, and down another flight of stairs.

“Are you taking me to the dungeon?” Pete laughed.

“It’s just a basement,” Patrick replied, smiling. He lead Pete across the old green carpet to a massive chest of drawers. “There’s got to be something in here.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s got to be everything in there,” Pete said, marvelling at the immense chest of drawers. It was taller than he was, and just as wide as it was tall. Pete hoped they wouldn’t have to search the top drawer.

Luckily for him, Patrick found what he was looking for almost immediately. From the bottom drawer he grabbed two purple velvet cloaks with white fur around the edges. He tossed one to Pete, nearly knocking him to the ground with the weight of the thing.

“Put it on!” Patrick said excitedly.

Pete complied, sticking his arms through the long baggy sleeves and pulling the whole cloak over himself. It went down past his feet and dragged along the floor, and the fur tickled his neck uncomfortably, but he was willing to wear the thing for Patrick. Patrick put on his own cloak, and looked delighted at the sight of him and Pete in the garish matching outfits.

“Do we have crowns?” Pete asked.

“Of course!” Patrick exclaimed. He rushed off to another corner of the basement in which there was another shelf of trinkets. Soon he returned holding two golden crowns in his hands. Upon taking one of the crowns, Pete realized they probably weren’t real gold, rather they were the kind of crown that comes in a Halloween costume: plastic, with gold paint sprayed on. However, they seemed to be holding up well for a couple of cheap plastic costume pieces that had been left in a basement for who knows how long, so Pete placed the crown on his head.

“There,” Patrick proclaimed, fixing his crown upon his own head. Pete grinned.

Suddenly, however, Pete began to feel lightheaded. He kneeled down on the ground, trying to catch his breath or clear his head or something, but it didn’t seem to work. Patrick rushed to his aid, placing his hands on his shoulders and looking him in the eyes.

“Pete, oh my god, are you alright? What’s going on?”

“I’m fine. I just feel a bit sick, that’s all,” Pete mumbled.

Then he fell face-first onto Patrick.

Suddenly Pete was jolted awake. He looked around the stairwell. Kids had begun to travel up and down the stairs again. Initially Pete thought it was just classes switching again, but then he looked at the clock and realized it was nearly three o’clock. The school day was over.

Pete hurriedly stood up, picked up his backpack, and rushed to follow the rest of the crowd of kids out to the buses. He still felt a bit sick, but perhaps this was just out of the shock of being ripped away from Patrick so quickly. As he boarded the bus, he had two things on his mind: Patrick, of course, and what his parents were going to do about him missing class. Patrick felt more important to him. Whatever his parents were going to do to him, it didn’t really matter. They couldn’t stop him from sleeping. As long as he could see Patrick again, everything would be fine.

When Pete arrived home, his mother and father were standing in the kitchen waiting for him. Pete gulped.

“Peter,” his father said sternly.

“Yes?”

“We heard you didn’t show up to class today.”

“I know,” Pete said, immediately feeling tears well up in his eyes. “I was just asleep in the stairwell all day. I’m so tired, alright? Please don’t be upset.”

“Oh, Pete, there’s no reason you should be so tired. You went to bed so early yesterday!” His mother shook her head. She put a hand to Pete’s forehead, feeling his temperature. “You’re not sick, are you?”

“I don’t think so,” Pete replied. “I’m just really tired. That’s all.”

“Pete, seriously, this isn’t like you,” his mother sighed. She was right. Pete may not have exactly been a straight-A student, but he never skipped class. He simply had no reason to: he had no real friends, he didn’t do drugs or anything, he didn’t particularly like to go shopping or anything like that. Well, he didn’t have a reason until he’d met Patrick.

“I’m so sorry,” Pete whined. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

“Are you sure?” his father asked. Pete could tell he was angry, but he wasn’t acting like it.

“Yes,” Pete replied. He felt hot tears running down his face. He felt so guilty. All he wanted to do was see Patrick. He rushed upstairs without saying anything else to his parents. Before arriving at his room, though, he stopped at the bathroom.

In the medicine cabinet, Pete found a bottle of sleeping pills. He only took a couple-just enough so that he could fall asleep and see Patrick again. But he did think about it. There was a moment or two where he considered downing the whole bottle, destroying his body and letting himself sleep forever. That would really have made him happy. But he felt doubtful. What if dying didn’t really let him sleep forever, and instead of seeing Patrick all the time they were torn apart for eternity?

Pete lied down in his bed, feeling drowsy already. There was a hint of anticipation nagging at his brain-he really was excited to see Patrick. He realized something in that moment just before he fell asleep: he loved Patrick. He loved him in the way that made him want to be Patrick’s king. Husband. There was no way around that. Of course, they were just kids, so it was more like boyfriends than husbands. But there was really no reason to not consider it permanent. Patrick lived in a dream world where there was no one else, and no one else in Pete’s world would ever want anything to do with him. Pete loved Patrick. He loved him so much, and it felt so good.

He awoke in the arms of a sobbing Patrick, both of them still wearing their kingly outfits.

“Patrick!” Pete exclaimed. “Patrick, it’s okay, I’m okay!”

“Thank god,” Patrick cried. He held Pete ever more tightly. “I thought I’d lost you. Oh my god, that would have been so awful. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Patrick.”

“What happened there? You passed out or something!”

“I did,” Pete replied. “I guess that other world can take me back whenever it wants.”

“That’s awful,” Patrick said. “I don’t want you going back there. Call me selfish, but I want you here, with me.”

“Me too,” Pete agreed. “I’m sorry it’s like this.”

“I’m sorry too. I wish there was a way to fix it.”

“Wait,” Pete said, thinking back to the bathroom in the real world. “I think there might be.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… you know how when people die everyone says that they’re sleeping forever? If I died, do you think I’d get to stay here forever?”

“I don’t know…” Patrick replied. “I’m just not sure that’s a good idea. People here can still die. Maybe if you died out there, you’d die here as well. Sure, you might just be able to stay here forever like you said, but what if you just… die? If you’re wrong, you can’t change what happened. You’re gone forever.”

“But is that a risk worth taking?”

“No! Of course not, Pete! It’d be lovely if you could stay here with me forever, but I’d rather you keep going back and forth than let you… kill yourself for me. And besides, what about the people out there? Surely there’s someone out there who you’d hurt if you died?”

“No,” Pete sighed. “I don’t have any friends. My parents have already given up on me. Honestly, I don’t think they’d be surprised if I killed myself. Just one more thing off the list.”

“What do you mean? What list? Pete, you’re scaring me.”

Pete stood up angrily.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Patrick. I know you’ve seen my scars. I know you know what they are, so you can stop being nice about it!”

“W-what scars? I don’t know what you’re talking about, honest!” Patrick was still sitting on the floor. He shrunk down further as Pete berated him. Pete wasn’t even particularly intimidating, he was fairly small and his voice wasn’t exactly threatening, but the image of him angry startled Patrick so much he couldn’t help but be a little afraid.

Pete shed his soft purple cloak, and then unzipped and removed the hoodie Patrick had given him. He stood in his nightshirt, both of the previous items of clothing at his feet and his scars bright red on his arms. They looked differently in this place: rather than pale white lines they were thick red scabs, almost as if each and every scar was a brand-new cut. Patrick looked up at him, a look of determination on his face.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said firmly. “Of course I know what they are. I never claimed not to. But I still love you.”

“It’s… different. Out there, someone like me is just hopeless. That’s just how it is.”

“And that’s why I want you here.” Patrick stood up and looked Pete in the eyes. “Here, stuff like that doesn’t matter. Here, love makes sense.”

“You’re right,” Pete said. He felt a tear coming to his eye, but he tried to hold it back. “I wish I could stay.”

“I’m sorry, Pete. This is all really stressful, isn’t it?”

Pete nodded sadly.

“Come on. Let’s go play a board game or something and forget about all this.”

“You have board games in here?”

“Of course!” Patrick laughed. “Come on, they’re upstairs in the cabinet in the foyer.”

Pete followed Patrick back up the stairs to the foyer. Patrick opened one of the drawers in the massive wooden cabinet and diligently searched for a game. He eventually decided on monopoly, and who was Pete to argue? In fact, Pete couldn’t actually remember the last time he played monopoly. He must have been a little kid, no more than ten. It felt good to sit down and play a game with someone again.

“Where did you even learn to play games?” Pete asked. “I mean, you’ve been living alone all these years. You really can’t play a board game by yourself.”

“Well, they come with instructions,” Patrick explained. “Usually I’d just play both sides. It works better with some games than others. I have figured out a way to play the game of life completely alone. Without even pretending to be another player.”

“Sounds cool,” Pete replied.

“It’s not. It’s actually quite boring. You don’t even get the exercise from jumping between sides of the board to be the other players.”

“I can’t believe you’ve managed to stay so happy. It sounds so sad being alone like that.”

“Oh, you know. I always knew someone like you would come along. Now pick a piece already, this game already takes hours without you waiting so long.”

Pete selected the dog. Patrick selected the hat, and made a big joke of putting it on his head like a real hat.

“M’lady,” he said to Pete, tipping the tiny silver hat as best as he could. Pete couldn’t help but laugh.

They spent a while playing the game. For a while, Pete was trying to let Patrick win by refusing to buy anything. He just felt bad for Patrick, considering he’d never actually been able to win a game for real. Eventually Patrick caught on to his strategy (it wasn’t that hard to notice) and smiled lovingly at Pete.

“Awww, are you letting me win?” he asked sweetly.

“Maybe,” Pete said with a wink.

“You don’t have to do that. I’m going to win anyway.”

Patrick did wind up winning anyway. By then, both of them were getting hungry, and Patrick decided he’d make dinner.

Pete was surprised by Patrick’s cooking skills at first, but then he realized he probably shouldn’t be. Of course, when you’ve been living alone with nothing to do for ten years, why not learn to cook? Patrick had made spaghetti, but it was the best spaghetti pete had ever tasted. He’d even made his own noodles.

“How did you learn to cook like this?” Pete asked, joyfully slurping pasta off of his fork.

“There are a bunch of cookbooks in one of the kitchen cabinets. At one point I just started going through them and making whatever I felt like, whenever I felt like it. There was a time when the fridge was just full of containers of soup because I’d made so many different kinds. I did manage to eat it all before it spoiled, though. Most of it was pretty good.”

“I’m not surprised. You’re a really good cook. You’ll have to teach me sometime.”

“I’d love to! I’ll even teach you something right now, if you want. As soon as you finish eating we can make something for dessert.”

“Like what?”

“Anything. You name it.”

Pete thought for a moment.

“Chocolate cake?”

“Oh man, I know the best chocolate cake recipe. We can make it together.”

Pete smiled excitedly at Patrick before continuing to scarf down his spaghetti. He felt so at home in that moment, with Patrick across from him and the promise of chocolate cake fresh in his mind. This place really was as perfect as any place could get.

By the time Pete had finished his meal, he and Patrick returned to the kitchen to make the cake. Pete knew he had spaghetti sauce on his face, but he didn’t care. And he knew Patrick didn’t care either. Patrick reached up into one of the cabinets and pulled out a thick recipe book with a picture of a tall slice of cake on the front.

“Can I get an apron or something?” Pete asked as Patrick flipped through the pages of the cookbook.

“Sure,” Patrick said with a laugh. “Check that y’all cabinet over there, I’m sure you’ll find something.” Patrick pointed towards a set of cabinet doors next to the fridge. The doors were as tall as the fridge itself. Pete walked over to them and opened them up, expecting to find some kind of closet or something. To his surprise, the inside of the cabinet was actually a series of shelves holding cutting boards, bowls, measuring cups, and, of course, some aprons which were neatly folded and placed on the shelf. Pete selected the one on the top of the pile, which just so happened to be a nice shade of pastel pink with little roses embroidered onto it. By the time he had finished putting it on, Patrick had already begun getting out ingredients for the recipe.

Patrick gently guided Pete through the process of baking a cake. Pete was embarrassingly bad at it, although it didn’t help that he lost track of what he was doing every time Patrick smiled at him or told him how good a job he was doing or gently guided his hands as he mixed the batter. By the time the cake was in the oven, Pete was covered in flour and milk and all kinds of other baking ingredients along with the aforementioned spaghetti sauce, and he sat cross-legged on the kitchen counter while Patrick tried to clean up some of the mess.

“Sorry I’m not being more helpful,” Pete sighed.

“It’s not a problem,” Patrick smiled. “You were a real big help with the cake.”

“Thank you,” Pete said, blushing. He stared down at the floor, then back up at Patrick.

“Hey Patrick? I… I think I love you.”

Patrick smiled and shook his head. He set down the sponge he had been using to wipe off the counter and walked over to Pete.

“I know,” he said sweetly. “I love you too.”

By the time the cake finished baking, Patrick had successfully created some chocolate frosting (and Pete had eaten about half of it). After it was frosted, they each took a slice. It was delicious. Pete was feeling a bit sick to his stomach both from the spaghetti he’d wolfed down earlier and from the large amount of frosting he’d just eaten, but he still finished it off. He wound up lying on one of the long couches in the foyer with Patrick sitting by his feet.

“So does food taste better here, or are you just a really good cook?” Pete asked.

“I don’t know. I think you’d know better than me.”

“I mean, you’re definitely a good cook. I’ve never actually wanted to eat so much food I made myself sick before, but I just had to this time.”

“Don’t make yourself sick! I mean, it can’t be that good, can it?”

“Are you kidding? If I spend one more day eating broth with vegetable chunks in it for dinner in the real world I think I’m just going to say fuck it and sleep during all my meals so I can eat here.”

“I’d be okay with that honestly. If it means I get to see you more, go ahead.”

“Yeah. I mean, I wish I could see you all the time.”

“Ugh. Me too, Pete.”

“Is it just me, or are you getting tired?”

“Like, sleepy tired? I mean, we did just eat dinner. It is technically night time here.”

“But if I fall asleep here, I go back to the other world.”

“You know what? Let’s go up to your room and cuddle under the stars. If you fall asleep, just try to get back soon, okay?”

“Okay.” Pete rolled off the couch, his stomach rumbling as he did so. He and Patrick wandered up the stairs to his room. Patrick parted the curtains and invited Pete to lie down in the big, soft bed. Once Pete was curled up under the covers, Patrick lied down next to him.

“It’s not fair that you have to keep going back there,” Patrick whispered.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I want to hold you close and keep you here forever.” Patrick squeezed Pete into a tight hug, keeping him close to his chest.

“I love you, Patrick.”

“I love you too.”

Patrick gently ran his fingers through Pete’s hair, slowly lulling him to sleep. Pete felt so cozy and safe. He didn’t want to leave, he didn’t want to go back to that awful awful world he had come from.

But he still did. Much to his continued irritation, he once again awoke in that other world. It now felt more like a dream to him than the world inhabited by Patrick. Less of a dream, really, more of a nightmare.

He didn’t even speak to his parents before walking out the door that morning. It didn’t matter. They weren’t real anyway. Pete walk solemnly through the dark morning mist, underneath the street lamps which still cast a dim glow onto the pavement. He sulked, staring at his shoes, just wishing he could somehow be back with Patrick.

And then he was.

It was like a snap. Suddenly he opened his eyes and he was in his bed, with Patrick. Patrick was awake, looking at him, confused.

“You’re back early.”

“I know,” Pete said dazedly.

“I mean, I’m not complaining. Do you want some pancakes?”

“Actually, I’m not hungry right now. Still full from last night, I guess.” He smiled, and Patrick smiled back. But there was an emptiness to it. They both knew something was wrong, but they weren’t going to say anything.

They got out of bed and went downstairs. Patrick prepared himself some toast with jam, and he sat on the kitchen counter and ate it. Pete sat on a different counter. They were both silent for a bit.

“So… what happened? Were you in the other world at all?” Patrick asked as he finished up the last bite of his toast.

“I was. Only for a few minutes though.”

“What happened?”

“I woke up. I put on my clothes, I walked out the door, I made it about halfway to the bus stop and then I woke up here.”

“Weird.” Patrick jumped off the counter to rinse his plate. He glanced at Pete, concern in his eyes.

“That’s all I remember,” Pete said.

“Are you sure nothing weird happened?”

“No more weird than usual.”

“Huh.” Patrick continued to rinse off his plate. He dried it off and put it in the cabinet. When he turned back around towards Pete, he’d nodded off on the counter.

Pete woke up again. It was the third time in what couldn’t have been more than an hour. This time, however, everything hurt. Something beeped by his head. He tried to turn to see what it was, but moving his head made his whole body feel like it was on fire.

 _Am I dying?_ Pete asked himself.

He looked around the room as best he could with just his eyes. He was lying in a bed. It wasn’t his room, or any room he had ever seen before. His mother was there, along with a man who Pete couldn’t see very well, but he knew from the man’s voice it wasn’t his father.

“The driver says he can’t afford to pay for anything, but he’s very sorry.” This was the man. He sounded very stoic, official, as if this was something he’d said a thousand times before.

“Well, is there anything you can do?” Pete’s mother. She sounded scared, almost angry.

“I’m afraid there’s not really anything we can do at this point. And personally, I don’t think you should even bother suing the driver. More trouble than it's worth. Even if he could offer you money, it wouldn’t really go towards anything, except maybe a f-“

“Don’t even talk to me about that!” His mother was screaming. It hurt Pete’s ears. “You’re going to find some way to help him. You have to.”

“I’m sorry ma’am, but there’s really nothing we can do. Even if we could do something to keep him alive, which, mind you, is a big if, he’d likely be wheelchair-bound if not bedridden for the rest of his life. And even if there was some kind of miracle and he managed to pull through long enough that we’d be looking at long-term options, he’d still have an awfully short life. Probably a painful one too.”

“God dammit! You have to do something! You have to! There has to be something you can do, it’s your job! It’s your fucking job, after all! Are you telling me I came all the way here and spent god knows how much just to get him into that bed, and you’re just going to let him die? You’re going to let… my baby…”

“We’re not letting him die, ma’am. I can try to go through our options again, maybe there’s something we can do.”

Pete snapped awake again. The pain was gone. He was sitting on the counter in Patrick’s kitchen, and Patrick was standing across from him. He had finished putting away the dishes and had begun trying to wipe a bit of jam off the countertop.

“Patrick,” Pete said shakily.

“Oh, you’re up again!” Patrick exclaimed. There was too much cheer in his voice. It felt weird.

“I-I think I’m dying.”

“What do you mean?” Patrick asked.

“I woke up back there. But not in my bed. I was in a hospital. My mom was there. She was really mad, she was yelling at this guy. The guy kept saying there was nothing he could do to help me. Everything hurt and I… I’m scared, okay?”

“But nothing hurts now, does it?”

“No. But… I know this isn’t the real world. Out there, that’s what’s real. If… not if. When I die out there, that’s real.”

“You don’t know that,” Patrick insisted.

“But it has to be. How did I just end up here a few days ago, but I’ve been there my whole life? That’s how dreams work. This is a dream! Call it whatever you want, call it an alternate reality, call it my final hallucinations before I flatline in that hospital in the real world, but this is not real!”

“I don’t believe that. I can’t. This is real, at least to me.”

“But that’s impossible! Patrick, you have to listen to me! I’m dying out there, and if I die out there, I’m probably going to die here as well. You might never see me again. So stop talking about what you think is real. I-I’m going to lose you, Patrick. I’m going to lose the only person I’ve ever loved.”

“Pete, come on.” Patrick set down the sponge he’d been using to wipe up the jam, and began walking out of the kitchen. Pete reluctantly followed him out to the foyer.

“I feel like you’re not taking this seriously enough,” Pete grumbled as he sat down next to Patrick on the couch.

“Look, Pete. The thing is, I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know what’s real, or if that’s different for me than it is for you. I don’t know what’s happening out there. But as long as I keep telling myself I’m not going to lose you, that feels real to me. That feels like the truth.”

“But that’s not how it works! You can’t keep telling yourself something’s true and suddenly make it true.”

“Maybe things work differently here.”

Pete sighed. He leaned into Patrick, nestling himself into the space under Patrick’s chin. Patrick rubbed his back gently.

“I hope you’re right,” Pete whispered.

“I do too. I love you, Pete.”

“I love you too, Patrick.”

Patrick held Pete close as he fell asleep again.

The pain came back in a rush. It almost felt worse the second time. Pete felt like he was being crushed alive under a huge boulder. He struggled for air. His lungs burned.

His father was now in the room along with his mother and the man who was probably a doctor. They weren’t speaking. They all watched him. Pete’s father had his arm over his mother’s shoulder. Pete couldn’t tell if they were crying or not. Everything looked cloudy.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Pete heard his mother say. It was barely above a whisper. “I know I said I’d always keep you safe. I’m so sorry.”

“You’re a good kid, okay?” his father said in the same tone. “You’re such a good kid. This isn’t right.”

“Surely there must be something we can do?” his mother asked again, a final desperate cry to save the son who only days before had already seemed hopelessly lost.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor told her. “His internal organs are already far too damaged. He was practically crushed in that accident. All you can really do now is say goodbye.”

Now Pete was sure his parents were crying. He could hear it. He couldn’t see it though. His eyes didn’t work anymore. Whether he’d just lost his sight or they’d been caked in blood or something equally gross, Pete really didn’t care to know.

“This is wrong,” his father said again. “This is so wrong. He was a good kid!” He was screaming now. “He was perfect, don’t you understand?” Pete wasn’t sure if he was yelling at the doctor or at someone else.

“I’m so sorry, Pete,” his mother said. Pete felt a hand touch his own. Barely. In fact, he was beginning to feel numb. The pain was fading, which was good, but it also kind of felt like he was floating in space.

“I know we haven’t been there for you all the time,” his father said. “But we’re here for you now. I know it’s too late, but… I’m so sorry.”

“We’ll always love you. Don’t forget that.”

The beeping sound grew louder, longer. It was filling Pete’s ears, filling his head with sound. It was worse than the pain, it was the most horrible thing he’d ever experienced. Pete knew what it was. That beeping sound was the sound of him dying, of his broken little heart beating for the final time.

“I’m dead. I’m dead. This isn’t happening, no, it’s-“

“Shh! Pete! You’re okay, calm down.”

It was Patrick. He was still holding Pete in his arms. Pete could feel the warm touch of Patrick’s arms around him, the soft fabric of his pajamas on his back, the gentle coolness of Patrick’s breath against his skin. It felt so good to feel. Being numb, even for just those few minutes, it was hell.

“No, Patrick, it’s not okay! I’m dead, don’t you get it? My parents were there, they were saying how sorry they were, how I didn’t deserve to die so young and how unfair it all is. They’re going to have to plan a funeral for a kid. Fuck, and it’s all my fault too.”

“Shhh. That’s not real anymore. You don’t have to go back there.”

“But-“

“Don’t worry. It doesn’t matter anymore. You can stay here with me now, okay?”

“I guess so. You were right, after all.”

“Yeah. That’s good, isn’t it? It’s all worked out.”

“But my parents… they’re still in that other world. It’s real to them. I’m still real to them.”

“You need to forget about that. You have to learn to be happy, okay?”

“I’ve never been good at being happy.”

“I know. I’ll try and help you as best as I can.”

Pete stayed there wrapped up in Patrick’s arms for a while. He felt safe. Loved. At peace. He hadn’t felt any of those things as he died, but now… it really did feel okay.

“Is this heaven?” Pete asked Patrick.

“What do you mean? I’m not a god of any sort, if that’s what you’re saying.”

“I mean, you are the king of this place. So if it is heaven, I think that would make you god.”

“You’re the king too, remember? And besides, if it were heaven, I think there’d be more people.”

“So this is just our personal heaven, I guess?”

“If you want to think about it that way.”

“Well, it feels like heaven to me,” Pete decided. He wrapped his arms around Patrick. It felt good knowing he could finally stay with him, in this place. Whatever it was, it was as close to perfect as anything could get. And Patrick was as close to perfect as anyone he’d ever met. That was enough for Pete.

If it was heaven, it didn’t seem like a bad place to spend eternity. If it really was just another world, and he and Patrick were just going to die someday, Pete was still glad they’d be together.

“I wanna stay with you forever,” he said to Patrick absentmindedly.

“Me too, Pete.”

“Do we live forever here?”

“How long do you want to stick around and find out?”

“Forever sounds alright, actually. As long as I’m spending it with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’m fully aware this ending was rushed and a bit shitty so just try to ignore it lmao. Hope you liked the parts that actually made sense, this was actually a lot of fun to write so I hope it wasn’t a complete nightmare to read!


End file.
